by LENA DIAZ,
“I have to admit, I’m impressed.” He waved his hand to encompass the single-car garage, brightly lit by buzzing fluorescents overhead. “I never realized you had a home in Colorado Springs. How did you manage to hide it from me? I found all the other properties you own.”
She quirked a brow. “The house in Florida?”
“Naples. Lovely Victorian. Could use a new paint job, though, like the Mustang.”
She frowned. “North Carolina?”
“Hatteras Island is gorgeous this time of year.”
“Damn. Canada?”
He arched a brow. “You don’t own a house in Canada.”
She smiled. “You’re right. I don’t. But I don’t own one in Colorado Springs either. The owners use this place for vacations two or three times a year. The rest of the time I’m free to stay here if I want.”
“That’s generous of them. Old family friends?”
Her smile faded. “I don’t have a family. And they’re more Hawke’s friends than mine.”
He limped toward her and gently brushed her hair back from her face. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Bailey. I wish . . . I wish it could have been different.”
She searched his eyes. “Do you?”
“Of course. I didn’t want Hawke hurt any more than I want you hurt.”
“You could have called Simmons, made him abort the mission earlier, when I first asked. If you had . . .” She curled her nails into her palms.
“If I had, maybe he’d still be alive?”
She nodded.
“It’s possible. It’s also possible that the call would have distracted Simmons while he was after your friend, and then your friend could have killed him. There’s no way to know for sure, and no do-overs in life. We have to make the best decisions we can, based on the facts we have at the time.”
“The facts? You sound so . . . clinical. What if one of the people involved was someone you loved? Hawke was the closest thing to a brother that I’ve ever known. I loved him. If he was someone you loved, would you have chosen to save his life, over Simmons’s? Would you have at least tried to save his life?”
“Bailey, I don’t think we should—”
“Have you ever loved someone?”
Something dark passed in his eyes, but he nodded.
“Pretend Hawke was your loved one. Now would you have called Simmons?”
He slowly shook his head. “It wouldn’t be right. I couldn’t trade one life for another like that, no matter how much I wanted to.”
“Then you, Kade Quinn, have never really loved someone.” She started to turn away, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“Who was he?” he asked. “Who did you love and lose? And don’t tell me it was Hawke. There’s something else going on here, someone else you’re remembering that has you so angry with me.”
“Not he. They.”
“They?”
“My mom and dad. We’d been on vacation and just flew back home to Bozeman—”
“Montana?”
She nodded. “We were in the airport parking garage, walking to our car with our luggage. I was thirsty, asked Daddy if I could get a drink from the water fountain back by the elevator. He said I could, but to hurry. So I ran to the fountain, just thirty feet away. I remember the water wasn’t even cold, had a metallic, rusty taste. I spit it out and turned around to complain just as a man wearing a ski mask stepped out from between two cars and pointed a gun at my parents.”
Her nails were biting into her skin now, but she barely felt the pain. She could see the parking garage as clearly as if she was standing there today. It was her curse, that time blurred the happy memories of her parents but did nothing to fade the horror of that night.
“Bailey—”
“My dad glanced at me, over the gunman’s shoulder. I started toward him, and he shook his head, just a tiny little shake. I stopped. I didn’t do anything, nothing at all, to help them. And then they were on the ground, the shooter running away with my father’s wallet and my mother’s purse. I didn’t. Do. Anything. And they died. I should have done something.”
He stepped closer but she moved back, out of his reach. “I don’t want your sympathy, Kade. I want your understanding. I loved my mom and dad desperately. And if I could go back in time, I would do anything, anything, to save them. The law be damned. Even if it meant killing their killer before he murdered them. That’s the difference between you and me, Enforcer and FBI agent. You wait until the crime occurs and then clean up the mess. I prevent the crime from happening in the first place by taking out the bad guys. And, for the record, I think your way sucks.”
She stalked into the house, stopping in the kitchen and bracing her hands on the countertop. But her anger didn’t last long. Maybe because she was too tired to be mad anymore. Or maybe because she was so hungry that being in a kitchen had her practically drooling at the thought of food. Heck, she’d eat a paper towel right now if that would stop the empty ache in her belly.
All she was sure of was that she couldn’t stomach how self-righteous Kade had been acting, talking about rules and laws. It was as if he was judging her, and the choices she’d made. Had she done things she wasn’t proud of? Of course. Hadn’t everyone? But overall she lived her life the best that she knew how, making the best decisions she could.
Her shoulders slumped.
Wasn’t that what Kade had just said? That he made the best decisions he could? How could she be mad at him for judging her when that’s exactly what she’d been doing—judging him? Maybe they weren’t so different after all. And maybe, just maybe, she owed him an apology.
He chose that moment to walk in from the garage. His movements were bordering on sluggish. Had he been up all night, too, without a chance to catch up on his sleep? She hadn’t thought to ask earlier.
“How old were you, Bailey?” he asked, his voice quiet, his expression somber. “When you lost your parents?”
She stiffened, already regretting telling him anything about her past. That was private, her burden to bear, not something to drag out like a couple of drunks comparing scars at a party. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes. It does. How old?”
She gritted her teeth. “Ten.”
He closed his eyes, swallowed. When he looked at her again, the sympathy in his eyes made her want to punch him. “You can’t blame yourself. There was nothing you could do.”
“I know that, Kade,” she snapped. “I came to terms with that night a long time ago. Really. I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”
“I’m glad you did. I’m honored that you shared your story with me. And I’m sorry that I let you down, with Hawke. I really do wish it could have been different. I know it hurts to lose a good friend. Mine didn’t die, but he might as well have. Other than anything work-related between our two agencies, we haven’t really spoken in about five years.”
“Five years? He couldn’t have been that good a friend then.”
“We grew up together, more or less. Middle school, high school, college. Even joined the bureau together.”
“What was his name?”
“Robert Gannon. I always thought we’d be friends forever. But I suppose we were just too competitive. We ended up working for the same boss, Faegan. Whenever I’d get a promotion, instead of congratulating me, Gannon wouldn’t speak to me for days, or at least until his own promotion got approved.
“I suppose because we were both on the same career track and he just figured he deserved it more than I did. Same thing as far as assignments. Seems like every time he’d get an assignment he was proud of, I’d end up with something better—at least in his mind. Things just sort of, soured, between us over the years. I guess the last straw was a few years ago. We were both dating the same woman.”
She stared at him. “You two-timed your best friend?”
“Hell no, not intentionally. Neither of us knew she was dating both of us. She was a co-worker. I guess she was having fun at bo
th of our expenses until she decided which of us she wanted to keep. Her game ended at a charity event that I took her to. Gannon—”
“You always call your best friend by his last name?”
“Always have, and he calls me Quinn. Started so long ago I don’t even remember why we do it.”
“Go on,” she urged.
“Gannon was supposed to be out of the country on assignment, training law-enforcement officers on investigative techniques. But the assignment ended earlier than expected and he popped into the same event. When he saw the two of us there, together, he just . . . exploded. Sucker punched me when I wasn’t expecting it. Called me a bastard and stormed out. A month later, when our boss’s boss, Kendall, left for a job at Homeland Security, Gannon asked to go with him. I guess it was a great move for him. He and Kendall both racked up the promotions once they got there. Gannon’s a hotshot now.”
He shrugged. “Not that I know about it firsthand. That’s what I’ve heard through the grapevine. Other than a grudging recommendation to my immediate boss—Faegan—to help me get my current assignment after the . . . accident, that was about the last time Gannon and I have spoken. There are the occasional work-related events we can’t avoid when our two agencies get together. But he’s pretty much written me out of his life. We’re definitely not friends anymore.”
“What a jerk.”
“Me or him?”
She smiled. “I might have to think about that. What happened to the woman?”
“She was mortified over the whole thing. Ended up transferring to the Atlanta field office. Haven’t heard from or seen her since.” He shifted his stance and winced.
Whatever she’d been about to say was forgotten as she studied his drawn features. “You don’t look so good. In fact, you look terrible. You’re as white as virgin snow. Is it your leg?”
Without waiting for his reply, she grabbed a bottle of over-the-counter pain medicine from a cabinet and set it on the counter. She opened the refrigerator and took out a cold bottle of water for him. When she turned around, he was already tossing back four pills.
“Whoa, easy on your liver. Or kidneys. Or whatever body part you’re abusing right now.”
“This is nothing. I used to eat Vicodin like candy.” He thanked her and chased the pills down with some water.
“What exactly’s wrong with your leg? How did you hurt it in the first place?”
“I need to splash some water on my face, wash my hands. Does this place have a bathroom?”
He’d neatly avoided her question. Normally she’d call him on it. But he seemed even paler than he had a minute ago and she was really starting to worry.
She shouldn’t care. He was still her enemy, after all. But they’d been through so much together in such a short time that he didn’t seem like the enemy. And it was hard not to care, at least a little bit, about a man who’d risked his life for her at every turn.
“Kade, maybe we should go back to the hospital. Have a doctor take a look at your leg.”
“After what we went through to get away? Not a chance. I’ll be fine, really. The pain pills are already making me feel better.”
His grimace said otherwise but she was tired of arguing. She waved toward the hall visible through an opening on the other side of the family room-kitchen combo. “The bathroom is the middle door. I’ll whip us up some grilled cheese sandwiches to inhale when you get back. Then we can both pass out for a few hours, or a week. Not sure about you, but I am one tired puppy.”
She rooted in the refrigerator, grabbed a stick of butter, searched for the cheese. There were only four slices. Was that enough?
“Hey, Kade. How much cheese do you like on your sandwiches?”
She glanced over her shoulder, but he was already gone.
Kade just managed to take care of nature’s call and wash his hands before collapsing to the bathroom floor. His leg hurt so much that now his back hurt right along with it. Every muscle along his left side was screaming at him to stop running around and get some rest. He hated that his injury had brought him to this point. Would he ever be the man he’d been before the accident?
Abby.
No. He couldn’t go there, couldn’t let those memories batter him right now, not here, not with Bailey to protect. If he could just hang on long enough for the pain pills to kick in, he’d be okay. He could pretend all was well as he sat across from Bailey and ate the promised grilled cheese sandwich. Then, he could collapse in one of the two bedrooms and sleep through the worst of the pain. He was due a good-leg day. He just had to survive until tomorrow.
He popped the brace off his thigh and tossed it aside so he could massage the aching muscles. He’d make himself get up in a minute. Just as soon as he gathered his strength. He leaned his head against the side of the tub and closed his eyes.
Bailey picked up one of the grilled cheese sandwiches and stared longingly at it. The monster in her stomach poked against her ribs, demanding that she take a bite. Man oh man did she want that sandwich.
She turned sideways on her bar stool, looking toward the hall. The bathroom door was still closed, with Kade still inside. She groaned and dropped her sandwich to the plate, fully intact. When life returned to normal again, whatever post-EXIT normal was, she should see a therapist about her inability to eat before everyone else had their food.
She debated knocking on the bathroom door. But if he had an upset stomach or something, she didn’t want to embarrass him—or her. She decided she might as well grab their bags from the trunk.
With her own bag secured with a shoulder strap, she picked up Kade’s duffel and slammed the trunk.
That’s when she saw the bullet hole.
She bent down and ran a finger across it. One of the agents at the hospital must have hit the car as she peeled out of the parking lot. She frowned. The damage was just above the bumper. If the bullet had kept going straight . . . She jerked her head up. She ran around to the passenger side of the car and yanked open the door.
There was a bullet hole in the seat. And it was soaked with blood.
She shoved the door closed and took off in a dead run. She raced into the kitchen, her shoes sliding on the tile floor as she rounded the corner. More drops of blood formed a trail all the way to the bathroom. How had she not noticed that he was bleeding?
“Kade, open up.” She rapped her knuckles on the door. “Kade?”
No answer. She tried the knob. Locked. A sense of déjà vu hit her, making her stomach churn. Her mind swirled with images of Hawke lying on the floor in the safe-room he’d built behind his kitchen cabinets.
Except that the room had been anything but safe.
“Kade, if there are any parts you don’t want me to see, you’d better cover them up. I’m coming in.”
She jumped up and slammed both of her feet against the doorknob. The cheap interior door splintered and flew open, banging against the wall.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. She ran into the bathroom and dropped onto her knees to lift Kade’s face out of the puddle of blood.
Chapter Thirteen
Monday, 1:17 p.m.
Kade blinked at the ceiling above him. He was lying on a bed, presumably in one of the bedrooms that Bailey had mentioned earlier. But for the life of him he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here.
“You’re awake.”
He turned his head on the pillow. Bailey stood in the doorway, her deep green eyes studying him intently, tempered with a wariness that immediately set him on alert.
“What happened? Have they found us?” He flipped up the sheet to slide out of bed. The rush of cool air against his skin had him looking down in surprise. “And why am I naked?”
He hurriedly covered himself as Bailey approached the bed, her face lined with worry.
“Don’t try to get up. We’re safe. No one knows we’re here.” She gently pushed him down on the pillows and pressed the back of her hand against his forehead. In spite of her reassuring words, she
seemed tense, unsure.
He gently pulled her hand away from his face. “Bailey, what’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay. I can take care of . . . wait, you know who I am?”
He frowned. “Unless you have an identical twin I don’t know about, you’re Bailey Stark. Why are you . . . oomph.” His arms were suddenly filled with a gorgeous redhead, hugging him tight, her soft breasts crushed against his chest.
Obviously he’d died and gone to heaven.
“Whatever I did, let me know,” he said. “I want to make sure that I do it again.”
The laugh he’d expected didn’t happen. Instead, she pushed out of his arms, her brow lined with worry again.
“How about you don’t do it again?” she said. “You’ll make me prematurely gray.”
He was about to ask what she was talking about, when he noticed two half-empty glasses of water and a stack of dirty dishes on the bedside table. Beside that on the floor was a pile of discarded towels. And next to that was a smaller pile of clothes, including a dark T-shirt and . . . bloody jeans.
His gaze shot to hers. “I remember I was in the bathroom. My leg was killing me and my back . . .” He reached around his left side, frowning when he felt a patch of gauze taped to his skin.
Bailey gently pulled his hand down. “You’re not naked just so I could have my wicked way with you while you were delirious with fever. You’re naked because I had to cut your clothes off in order to sew up the bullet hole in your side.”
He really, really wanted to explore that whole “wicked way” and “naked” thing with her, but the word bullet more or less canceled that out.
“The hospital parking lot?”
She nodded. “Apparently one of the agents fired through the trunk when we were driving away. It was just a flesh wound, thankfully. But you lost so much blood—” She shook her head. “Obviously I couldn’t risk taking you back to the hospital. I had to do the best I could. And being the badass Enforcer that I am, I saved the day. So settle down before you ruin my handiwork. I have better things to do than stitch you up again.”